SHRUGGING OFF MY UNEASE, I looked around our backyard again. There was just a small patch of grass next to Mom's garden. Dad was barely keeping it alive. I wondered how long it would last. Mom had been raised in the farming belt of California. Even though the coastal town of Scotts Valley was wooded and often covered in fog, she still managed to produce a flourishing garden. Dad had planted one this summer in her memory. By some miracle, the tomatoes were still growing. I walked closer to pick some of the ripe ones. That's when I noticed the footprints from a dog. But, these were huge! I followed them around the dirt. They were all over the backyard. Although it seemed ages ago, I recalled the wolf I'd seen on the way to school. What was going on? Shivering, I hurried into the house and locked the doors.
That night I finally dreamed about my mom. Dad and Uncle Ira were in it, too. It had that nostalgic quality, like a filter on a camera lens.
**